


All the Lines We Cast Will Bring Us Home

by afirethatcannotdie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Concerts, Famous Louis, Fan Harry, Fluff, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, London, M/M, Music, Non-Famous Harry, Solo Artist Louis, University Student Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afirethatcannotdie/pseuds/afirethatcannotdie
Summary: Harry wakes to a series of tweet notifications.@Louis_Tomlinson:Sooo excited to announce I’m going on tour !! In America in 5 weeks and then coming back to the UK ! Get tix here: bit.ly/LTonTour@Louis_Tomlinson:Gonna be siiiick !!“Niall!” he yells, running out of his room. “Louis is performing at the O2 in January. Niall, I have to go.Wait. Niall. Oh my god, we’re gonna see Louis Tomlinson’sbum.”AU. The one where Louis is a famous singer, Harry's a uni student obsessed with his music, and sometimes things have a way of working out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a prompt challenge that a group of us are participating in for the prompt "Scream". To read the other amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, you can [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/scream/works) and to see all fics written as part of the challenge, you can [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/2017_hl_prompt_challenge/works).
> 
> Thanks to [KK](http://waytoomanypeopleintheaddisonlee.tumblr.com/) for your britpicking skills and [Sus](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/) for betaing. Title from Jack's Mannequin's 'Casting Lines'.

+

The first time he hears of Louis Tomlinson, he’s eighteen years old and eating breakfast in a hotel suite in Los Angeles.

“Hey Harry,” his mum asks through a mouth full of cereal. “Have you heard of this kid? The Today Show says he’s Britain’s latest pop sensation. Feel like we would’ve heard of him before.”

Harry and his family have just spent two months roadtripping around the US, frequently without wifi, so none of them are up on the latest _anything_. Harry turns to look at the television. The camera pans over hundreds of screaming girls, most of them crying. The reason for their tears becomes clear when a boy steps onto the stage, a blue microphone clutched in his hand and a beaming smile on his face.

But that’s not what Harry sees first. What Harry notices is the way his fringe curls over his forehead, the way he’s wearing black skinny jeans and a white tank top that clings to his hips, the way that his blue eyes look like the ocean Harry swam in yesterday. He’s gorgeous, and he has this magnetic quality about him, one that Harry can feel through the screen.

“Mum, look what you’ve done, he’s transfixed!” Gemma says gleefully. Louis isn’t on the screen anymore, so he turns to look at her and she’s smiling wickedly, like he’s never going to hear the end of this.

“Uh oh, Harry, d’you have a crush?” his mum teases. Her tone suggests that if she were next to him and not sitting on the couch at the other end of the room, she’d be pinching his cheek. Harry takes the last piece of his blueberry scone and throws it at Gemma, hitting her on the forehead.

He grabs his phone and stalks off to his room, letting the door slam behind him. He has a Louis Tomlinson to Google.

+

It turns out that Louis Tomlinson is perfect, and Harry is almost entirely in love with him.

He gets home from the holiday in America and immediately downloads Louis’ album, _Midnight Memories_. It turns out that his first single, released three months ago, is that one that they kept hearing on the radio every day, the one that Harry now knows all the words to and his stepdad officially hates.

Too bad for Robin, because Harry is pretty convinced that Louis is his future husband. He’s really kind, he’s gorgeous, has a beautiful voice, and last year he hosted a charity ball for sick kids that raised over 2 million pounds. Like, what more could you want?

Well, there’s also the fact that he’s been openly gay since the beginning of his career, refusing to hide who he is. He’s spoken candidly about it in most of his interviews, and he sees himself as a role model to struggling kids.

 _“I want to be there for other kids who are scared they’re not normal. I want them to know that they_ are _normal, and they’re loved, and they’re important.”_

So yeah, he’s pretty much perfect.

+

He spends the days before leaving for King’s College London in a haze of packing, running his favorite route in Holmes Chapel, and setting up a Tumblr account. He always thought that Tumblr was for aesthetic pictures and dorky jokes and people obsessed with that show with those guys Dean and Sam, but it turns out that there are entire fan communities there devoted to almost anything you can think of. There’s one for Louis, so many blogs run by people who love him as much as Harry does, posting videos of his interviews and talk show performances and instagrams. He’s not obsessed with it, he’s _not_. He just likes it because of all the cute pictures and the friends he’s made. It’s just nice to talk to people who _get_ it, who feel better because of things Louis has said or done.

That’s it.

+

“So who’s your favorite artist?”

The question’s posed by Nick Grimshaw, the guy in charge of KCL Radio, and Harry isn't quite sure what to say. Should he give a true answer, one that might embarrass him, or one that makes him sound edgy enough to work for a radio station like this?

“Louis Tomlinson,” he answers honestly. He tries to sound confident when he says it, working to conceal how sheepish and uncertain he really feels about the answer. Wow, he's only been a student here for a few days and he's already messing things up for himself.

Nick narrows his eyes, creasing the skin between his eyebrows. “And why’s that?”

“He’s amazing,” Harry says immediately. “Not just as a singer but also as a person. He’s such an inspiration to people, telling them it's okay to be gay or to feel like you're not normal or to struggle with things. I really identify with that. Makes me feel like I’m not alone.”

“Got yourself a bit of a crush there, huh?” Nick teases, and it makes Harry blush.

“I, er… yeah, maybe.”

“With an arse like that, who _wouldn't_ have a crush on him?” Nick quips, and Harry bursts into a laugh. Because yeah, Louis’ bum is definitely one of his best physical qualities. Along with his eyes, and his hair, and his hands, and his voice, and... it’s probably best if Harry stops that line of thinking whilst in a job interview.

“Well, honest answer like that, you're hired,” Nick continues. “What day can you start?”

+

He gets back to his flat, kicking off his shoes and collapsing on the couch. There’s something poking him in the back, sharp and pointy, and he twists himself up to retrieve it. It's a paintbrush.

“Zayn,” he calls, “stop leaving your things everywhere.”

He can hear Zayn moving around in the kitchen, the rhythmic clicking of a wooden spoon hitting the edge of a metal pot, and he yells to him again. Zayn scurries into the room, nearly slipping on the floor in his socked feet, and his face is the picture of relief when he sees what Harry’s holding in the air.

“I've looked everywhere for that! Where was it?” He comes up to Harry and snatches it out of his hand.

“Poking me in the back when I lay down!” Harry sits up and pokes Zayn hard in the shoulder in retaliation. “Like, I’m happy for you that you get to study art, but stop leaving your supplies all over the place. I feel like one of these days I’m gonna wake up with paint all over my arm.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, and at least he actually sounds apologetic for once. They've been living in this flat for ten days and already Harry’s found so many things in the wrong places.

“Yeah, whatever,” Harry says as he stands and stretches his arms. He’s so, so tired. Life in uni is not exactly conducive to sleeping. There’s so much work, and there’s club nights and then there’s feeding himself and going to class and exercising and making friends and now he’s got this new gig at the radio station. “I’m going to my room. Don’t leave your dishes in the sink this time, _please_.”

“You mean you’re going onto Tumblr to stare at pictures of your boyfriend!” Zayn yells to his retreating back.

Harry doesn’t bother to protest, just slams his bedroom door behind him, because Zayn’s not wrong. He and Niall have caught him on Tumblr watching funny videos of Louis more times than he’d like to admit. Luckily, they take it for the good-natured crush it is and don’t give him _too_ much shit about it. He’s got some good roommates.

+

His mum wants to know if he’s met anyone yet, if there’s any nice young man that he's got his eye on. The answer is always no, he hasn't fallen in love yet. At first it's fine; he’s only just moved to London and is still settling in. And then the weeks go by and his answer is always the same.

It's not like he expects to fall in love this early; the only person he knows who’s ever met their soulmate at the start of uni is Gemma, who fell for a boy she met in a bar during fresher’s week and never looked back.

The thing is that he wants to fall in love probably more than he wants anything else. He’s tired of feeling like he’s not good enough for it. He wants someone to think he’s special, to consider him worth pursuing, to _pick_ him. He just wants a person. And, he realizes one Saturday morning when Niall and a girl stumble out of his room, giggly and sleep-mussed, he's tired of sleeping alone.

He doesn't just want a quick fuck though. His body certainly wants that, he’s an 18 year old boy with a healthy libido, after all. But anytime he thinks ‘maybe I should just go to a bar, find someone, and get this over with,’ he stops himself. He’s a romantic, and his friends tease him for it, say that that kind of attitude isn't normal anymore. But is there something so wrong with wanting to get ice cream and hold hands with someone before fucking them? That's all he wants.

Plus, ideally it'll be someone he loves. That part is a little less certain these days.

+

On the day he writes his first exam paper, a scary day when he has to sit in the lecture hall and fill up a blue booklet about the difference between theory and literature, he goes home and burrows into his bed and cries.

He misses home _so_ much, desperately misses warm hugs from his mum and his big garden and watching telly with his sister. He isn’t made for this, doesn’t feel like he’s good at being in uni and living on his own. He loves his roommates, loves the people in his classes, and loves working at the radio station, but he still feels _lonely_. It’s so different here, and his courses are difficult and he doesn’t feel smart.

He just wants to go home.

He fumbles on his bedside table for a pair of headphones, and plugs them into his phone. He clicks onto Louis’ album, and pulls up his favorite song, _Don’t Forget Where You Belong._ He has to listen to it on repeat for an hour, but eventually he does feel better.

 _If you ever feel alone, don’t. You are never on your own._ ”

+

Stressed out by classes and how busy he is, he takes up running.  He spends mornings jogging along the Thames or on the treadmill in the campus gym when the rain is too bad. It’s a struggle at the start, but he pushes through and it does get easier. He sets little challenges for himself, like running to the next bridge as fast as he can or not stopping anytime one of Louis’ songs shows up on the playlist.

Sometimes it crosses his mind that Louis also lives in London, and he wonders if he’ll ever run into him. He doesn’t even know what he would do -- he likes to think he wouldn’t take a creepy picture of him, wants to say that he’d grow the balls to go up and say hello and thank him for all he’s done for him, but in reality he’d probably flail from afar and then collapse on the ground. It seems unlikely, though, so he tries not to think about it too much.

“You look good, mate,” Nick says one afternoon when he gets to work.

“Huh?” Harry asks, too busy queuing up a list of songs to play for the show to listen to him properly. Nick talks a lot of shit, is the thing, most of it to tease Harry, and so he tends to ignore him a lot of the time. Working at a radio station is a lot less like the girl in _Pitch Perfect_ who got to mix music and more like organizing the files on the computer and getting coffee for Nick.

“Have you been working out? You look good.”

Harry looks down at himself, the band t-shirt that’s a little looser than it was the last time he wore it and the jeans that don’t fit quite as snugly, and he realizes that he’s lost a few pounds.

“Yeah, I uh, I guess so. Thanks.”

He goes home and examines himself in the mirror, and he’s a little bit amazed at what he sees there. He does look good. His clothes fit better and his muscles feel more defined and most importantly, he _likes_ himself more. Maybe it’s moving away from home and becoming independent, maybe it’s growing up and realizing that it’s okay -- better than okay -- to be who he is, maybe it’s exercising all the time. Maybe it’s all three. But no matter what it is, he’s proud of himself.

+

In mid-October, Harry catches Zayn and Niall singing along to Louis’ latest single one night when they’re cooking dinner, so he thinks his Louis obsession might be rubbing off.

“I watched one of his interviews,” Zayn admits later as they’re gathered around the too-small kitchen table eating pasta and meatballs. “I guess I see why you like him. He’s funny.”

Harry tries to remain collected as he chews, but inside he’s freaking out. _Which interview did you watch which was it was it the one where he plays with the puppies or the one where he talks about writing music or the one where he goes paintballing which was it?_ But wow, Zayn actually _willingly_ watched one of Louis’ interviews. Like, one that Harry didn’t force him into watching. He actually did that.

“Yeah, he’s uh, pretty cool,” Harry says, and he means it to be casual but as soon as the words are out he knows he sounds goofy and over eager. Niall and Zayn burst into laughter.

“You’re proper obsessed with him, mate,” Zayn says as he chews. “But like, good for you. You could be obsessed with someone who’s much worse, after all.”

“Like who?” Harry asks.

“Um, like someone terrible. Someone addicted to coke and telling people they need to be skinny and mean to be happy. I dunno, can’t think of anyone right now. Basically, I’m just saying that you have good taste.”

“Wait. Do _you_ like him now too?”

“He’s fit, sure,” Zayn admits. “But like, I think he’s all yours. Don’t think I’m going to be encroaching on your territory.”

“Ooh, big word,” Niall says mockingly.

“He’s a good singer,” Zayn concedes, “and he seems like a good person.”

When they’ve cleared the dishes away, Harry sits them down and makes them watch Louis’ latest music video. It’s super cheesy, one where you’re supposed to imagine that you’re on a date with him and everything goes wrong, but Harry doesn’t totally hate it. After all, he’s wondered what it would be like to go on a date with Louis so many times. Now he has the video to go along with it.

They end up pushing all the furniture aside to have a dance party to his entire album, and it’s the happiest Harry has felt in months.

+

Harry wakes the next morning to a series of tweet notifications.

 ******@Louis_Tomlinson:** Sooo excited to announce I’m going on tour !! In America in 5 weeks and then coming back to the UK ! Get tix here: bit.ly/LTonTour

 ******@Louis_Tomlinson:** I’m really excited about this ! Can’t wait to see you all !

 ******@Louis_Tomlinson:** Gonna be siiiick !!

He sits up in bed with a start and he can’t believe it. Louis is actually going on tour. He clicks the link and quickly sees that he’ll be in the UK in late January, just before his birthday. He _has_ to go.

“Niall, Niall!” he yells, running out of his room and into the living room. Niall’s laying on the floor, a pillow between his stomach and the rug, playing FIFA. It’s a testament to how used to Harry he is that he doesn’t even look up from his game, just asks what’s going on. Harry settles down next to him and nudges him with his elbow until Niall pauses the game and looks at him.

“Louis is going on tour. He’s coming here, to London. Louis is performing at the O2 in January. Niall, I _have_ to go.”

Niall smiles. “How do we get tickets?”

“We?”

“Yeah, of course,” Niall says, looking like he's trying hard not to roll his eyes. “Zayn and I will go with you. Someone has to protect you when you try to fight your way on stage to see him. And then get you out of jail when you get arrested.”

Harry beams and launches himself on top of Niall, pressing kisses on the back of his head as Niall wriggles beneath him. “Oh Niall, thank you, thank you. Best roommate ever.”

“Yeah, whatever, get off me please,” Niall grumbles as he restarts his video game, but he’s smiling. “I just don’t want you to have a heart attack when you see him in the flesh.”

Harry rolls off Niall and lands with his back on the floor. He stares at the ceiling, and his voice is airy when he says, “Wow. I can’t believe I’m gonna see Louis in person. Wait. Niall. Oh my god, we’re gonna see Louis Tomlinson’s _bum_.”

Niall just smacks him.

+

They don’t get tickets.

Harry’s back laying on the floor a week later, but this time it’s with his laptop beside him and his heart feeling heavier than ever.

“How could they sell out that quickly?” Zayn asks, legs hanging off the edge of the couch. “Like, the three of us were on our laptops _and_ our phones. We were ready before they even opened the ticket sales!”

“I bet ticket sellers bought them all,” Niall says angrily. “Greedy fuckers. Shouldn’t be allowed to buy anything, they’ll resell them but it’ll be for three times the price.”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Niall, I can’t _afford_ three times the price. I could barely afford _this_ price!”

“We’ll figure it out,” Zayn promises. “They’ll probably have tickets on the radio, Radio 1 sometimes does ticket giveaways. We’ll keep an eye out. There’s almost three months until the concert. We have time.”

He takes a sad selfie and posts it on Instagram and Tumblr.

_“Couldn’t get tickets to @louist91’s show, so sad. Anyone have a spare?”_

It gets a lot of likes, but no one has anything for him. Most of his Tumblr friends got tickets, and he’s excited for them, but he can’t help the jealousy.

He knows it doesn’t matter that much. He’ll always have Louis’ music, and videos of his interviews, and the knowledge that Louis has helped him so much these past few months.

He’s still upset.

+

He’s in the middle of his 19th century literature course when it occurs to him that he should ask Nick. He’s tapping his foot incessantly, most definitely bothering the girl sitting next to him, and _yep_ , she’s glaring at him. It could be because he has Louis as his computer background, but it’s probably because of the tapping.

“Sorry,” he mouths to her, and tries to calm his knee, willing it to still. The second the professor ends class, he’s smacking his laptop shut and running out the door, down the street to the building where KCL Radio is housed.

He’s 45 minutes early for his shift, normally eats lunch at this time, but he needs to know immediately. If anyone has an in with a ticket company, it’ll be Nick. He’s 28 years old, and has actually worked in radio, genuinely _knows_ people, famous people, and only works at KCL Radio because he’s a graduate student who gets paid to wrangle students like him.

“Saw your Instagram from the other day and I wondered how long it’d take for you to come track me down,” Nick says, smirking at Harry as he skids to a stop in front of his office. “I don’t have any tickets, sorry, babe.”

“What -- how did you know that’s what I came to ask?” Harry says, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Nick smirks. “If anyone on this campus knows how to get tickets around here, it’s me. Unfortunately, no luck this time.”

Harry pouts. “But I'm his biggest fan.” His arms are crossed against his chest, and he's trying not to be upset about this, he really is, but also he really, _really_ wants to see Louis perform.

“Cheer up, babe,” Nick offers, “I’m sure you’ll get to meet the popstar boy of your dreams eventually. Or you could just, you know, find a boyfriend who goes to uni, one you actually have a chance with.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry says, waving him off. He doesn't want Louis to be his _boyfriend_. He just wants to meet him and tell him how much he’s helped him. There's a difference. “I'm going to lunch.”

“Be back in half an hour!” Nick calls. “And bring me a sandwich, grilled cheese with tomato!”

Harry just flips him off.

+

He goes to a pub with Zayn and Niall one weekend, convinced by them to come out to drink and dance. He has a few too many drinks and ends up snogging a short guy with curly hair in the loo. It’s nothing special; the guy is nice enough, but when he asks Harry if he wants to go home with him, Harry just shakes his head.

Niall and Zayn don’t understand why he won’t, but when Harry says “I just couldn’t,” they don’t ask further questions, just take him home and tuck him into bed.

+

Louis performs his first show in New York City in late November. Harry tells his friends from the Lit Society that he can’t make their weekly pub night because he’s not feeling well, and then he settles in with a bag of popcorn and watches the videos as they stream in on Tumblr.

+

Louis has performed twelve shows in America now, from New York to Boston to Atlanta to Los Angeles, and not once has he played _Don’t Forget Where You Belong_. Harry’s stopped expecting him to play it now, but he’s disappointed.  That song has been his favorite for months now, helping him through the hardest parts of being away from home and reminding him that everything will be alright, and he desperately wants to hear Louis perform it live. It's not like he'll _die_ if he doesn't get to hear it, but he really, really wants to.

 ******@Harry_Styles:** @LouisTomlinson when are you gonna start playing DFWYB? You should add it to the set list, it's a lovely tune!

+

Harry wakes up in his bedroom in Cheshire on Christmas morning to snow blanketing the earth.

"Good morning love. Happy Christmas," his mum says when he pads downstairs in his slippers and robe. She's sitting in the loveseat by the window and though he's probably too old for it, he curls up next to her anyway. "It's gorgeous outside, isn't it?"

Harry hums a little noise of agreement, resting his chin on her shoulder as they both gaze out the window to the snow softly falling outside. She offers him her mug and he takes a sip of the rich, warm hot chocolate that's become an essential part of their Christmas morning tradition.

"Happy Christmas," he says, and she wraps an arm around him, holding him close.

"I'm glad you're home. It hasn't been the same without you."

Harry smiles. "No? So you're saying that Robin and Dusty and Cheddar don't provide you with enough entertainment on a daily basis? D'you want me to come back?" He misses the cat and dog at uni.  He wishes that he could bring them back to school with him. Well, maybe just Cheddar; his mum would throw a fit if he ever took Dusty away.

"Yes," she says, her tone honest, "but I know that's selfish of me. You deserve a chance to go off and grow up. Just don't forget that you'll always be my baby." She kisses his temple and he closes his eyes, revelling in being back home, safe and warm and content. It's not like at uni, where everything is new and confusing and uncertain. He knows how things work here.

"I should get up and make some brekkie. Is Gem still asleep?" his mum says, loosening her hold on him so she can get to her feet.

"I think so. Her door was shut when I walked by. Do you need help?"

"That girl," his mum says, shaking her head but smiling fondly. "She probably didn't get back until 2 am."

Harry stays silent, because he knows for a fact that Gemma didn't get back from the pub until nearly three. There's some things his Mum doesn't need to know.

"And no, you stay and watch telly, I can do it," his mum continues, passing him the clicker. He settles himself again on the couch to watch Christmas films. Gemma comes down an hour later, wiping sleepy dust out of her eye. He doesn't want to tell her that she's got mascara and eyeliner smeared all over her eyes. She looks hungover enough; he doesn't need to deal with her wrath as well.

His mum calls them in for breakfast finally, and he nearly cries at the sight of the crepes and bacon and fresh fruit juice that's been his traditional Christmas morning meal for so many years.

They listen to the radio during breakfast, and he only flinches _minorly_ when Louis’ latest single comes on the radio. Sometimes he forgets that Louis exists in the entire universe, not just in his head and on his laptop. He's properly famous; other people know about him and are fans of him. Not that Harry's possessive of him, but. Louis feels a little bit like his. It's just weird to think about others feeling the same way.

"Still obsessed with him then, huh?" Gemma asks, tossing half a piece of bacon at his chest. Robin tuts disapprovingly, and Gemma looks apologetic. "Well...you are obsessed with him, don't deny it."

"I'm not," Harry mumbles, eyes on his plate.

"Not denying it or not obsessed?" Anne asks, pouring them all another cup of tea.

"Anyway," Harry says loudly. "Let's talk about something else! How've you all been getting on without me?"

+

They open presents after breakfast, a tradition that started when they got too old for Santa to come visit anymore and stopped walking up at five in the morning. Once all the dishes are cleared away, they settle down in the sitting room around the tree, Harry perched in the armchair and Gemma on the ground at his feet, and begin to pass around presents.

There's still gifts from Santa, in handwriting that looks suspiciously like his mum's, and when Gemma calls her out on it she says that they're never truly too old for him to come visit.

Robin loves the books that Harry bought him at the secondhand shop in London, first editions of some of his favorite novels, and he gives Harry a squeezing hug when he sees them. His mum gives Gemma a weekend away at a spa and tells her to bring someone special, and Gemma tries not to act like she's going to be bringing her boyfriend.

Gemma buys him a Louis Tomlinson calendar. He does his best to look offended, but the pictures are so lovely that his heart is doing little flips.

There's presents from cousins and grandparents and people who were too far away to come see them. They open them one by one, and each time, Harry thinks -- _maybe_. _Maybe I'll actually get the one thing that I desperately wished for._

But then they're surrounded by a mess of empty wrapping paper, cardboard boxes and gift cards and presents, but no concert tickets. He tries not to look disappointed, but inside his heart is aching.

"Harry, love," his mum says, and he brightens his face, trying not to look quite so dejected. "Can you run in and get the biscuits? Think we'll have a few. Can afford to spoil the diet on Christmas."

He nods and goes to the kitchen to get the tin from the cupboard. His phone is on the work surface, lighting up with a text from Niall. He wants to know if Harry got the tickets. No luck, he tells Niall, followed by a number of sad faces.

"Here you go," he says, handing the tin to his mum. He curls up in the armchair again, staring at his pile of gifts and making a list of good things about today.

"Well, would you look at that," his mum says loudly, and she's holding the lid of the biscuit tin out to him. "It's got your name on it, love."

There's an envelope taped inside, his name scrawled across it in black ink. The envelope is white, nothing fancy about it, and he's baffled.

"Well, go on," Robin says, biting back a smile. "Open it."

Gemma takes the lid from their mum and rips off the envelope, handing it to Harry. "Don't keep us all waiting, kiddo."

They're all smiling, and his heart starts racing a little bit, because everyone knows what's going on except him. He hates that feeling.

The paper is cool beneath his hands as he rips it open, and he slips his finger into the envelope to pull out -- tickets. Three tickets to Louis' show.

"You're fucking kidding me," he says, dropping the tickets to his lap and staring up at his mum and Robin in awe.

"Well, I'm not a fan of that language, but... yeah," she says, beaming at him. "Happy Christmas, love."

"Oh my God, oh my God, is this real?" he asks, scrambling out of his seat to throw his arms around his mum and Robin. His head is at a weird angle and his back hurts a little bit, but his mum is laughing in his arms.

"Hope you have a good time," Robin says, and Harry kisses the side of his head.

"You're -- this is brilliant. Genuinely, seriously brilliant. Thank you... thank you so much," he says, looking at the tickets again.

Louis Tomlinson, The O2, late January. They're good seats, too. Not just good seats -- front row seats. He's going to be front row at Louis' concert.

"I think he's in shock," Gemma observes, watching as Harry slowly sinks to the floor, not daring to take his eyes off the tickets. "I think you've properly shocked him now."

He doesn't hear the rest of the conversation, because he's going to see Louis. It's really happening.

+

“We need to get you a good sign,” Niall comments as he pulls his eyes away from the laptop screen where they’re looking at a video from Louis’ latest concert. “Like, if you watch these videos, the people he talks about on stage always have good signs.”

“What about something with a pun?” Harry suggests, typing ‘punny concert signs’ into Google. “What about this?”

“‘Are you a banana, because you have appeal?’ Absolutely not,” Niall says, slapping his hand away. He deletes the word ‘punny’ from the Google search. “What about ‘I’m only here for the band’?”

Zayn’s in the corner of the living room, a plastic tarp beneath his feet as he paints on a canvas. “What about,” he says, “writing ‘get a proper job, you dick’?”

Harry bursts into laughter, but Niall’s face is stern. “He’s not writing that, Zayn. No need to be inappropriate.”

“Aw, but all the best ones are,” Harry pouts, thinking back to all the signs he’s seen on Tumblr with have comments, some of them funny and some of them just straight up disgusting. He’d be too embarrassed to hold up one of those, and it’s kind of a dick move anyway; you wouldn’t say those things to people on the street, so why would it be any different at a concert? Plus, Louis _does_ have a proper job, so that sign makes no sense.

“Well, we need to think of _something_ ,” Niall says, pulling up his hood and pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his hands. Their flat is cold and Zayn refuses to turn the heating up, so they’re each wearing three layers more than usual.

“We’ll think of it, I know we will. And then when we do, Zayn will paint it onto a sign and I’ll get noticed by Louis and my world will be complete,” Harry says dramatically. That’s not what’s going to happen and he knows it, but it’s a lovely thought nonetheless.

“Ew, look at this one,” Harry says, pointing to a photo from the show last night.

“‘My love for you is like diarrhea,’” Niall reads, face scrunched up. “‘I can’t hold it in.’”

“Gross!” Zayn yells, and then Harry collapses into a fit of laughter.

+

The streets of London are crowded despite the rainy weather, and Harry’s thankful for the scarf Gemma gave him for Christmas as he and Niall follow Zayn in his quest to find the perfect shirt.

“We’ll find it, I know we will,” Zayn tells them as they leave the ninth shop they’ve been to. “I just know that it’s out there.”

“Why are we doing this again?” Niall grumbles, knowing full well exactly why they’re doing this. Zayn has been talking about his date for three weeks now, and of course he’s left it to the last minute to find something to wear.

“Because Perrie Edwards asked me to be her date to the Medical Society winter ball, and I need a dress shirt to go with my outfit,” Zayn explains, and he looks like he’s floating on air when he talks about it. Harry wants someone like that, wants to experience the first few tentative steps of falling in love, wants to know what it’s like to get to know someone and have them know you in return. His heart twists a bit at the thought; he’s a hopeless romantic, but right now he just feels hopeless.

“Well, can you look online first to see if any shop has it? I’m cold, and I don’t want to spend all day traipsing around London when I could be home in my bed,” Niall says, dodging an angry-looking older man with a cane who tries to walk between them on the pavement.

“I can’t,” Zayn groans. “I’m out of data on my phone, I used it all up the other day on the bus streaming that new music video.”

Harry chuckles, because that’s so like Zayn. He can seem aloof and disinterested, but when he cares about something, he really cares about it above all else. Which is also how they’ve gotten stuck in this shopping trip; he wants everything to be perfect for Perrie. But that’s beside the point, Harry would rather focus on the things that make Zayn great.

“Come on, we’ll get to a coffee shop that has wifi and we’ll get some tea,” Harry says, pulling Zayn by the coat sleeve in the direction of the nearest Costa Coffee.

+

They’re settled at the table, jackets on the back of their chairs dripping water onto the floor and hands being warmed by cups of tea as they watch Zayn search the internet for the perfect dress shirt.

“I love free wifi,” Niall says off-handedly. “Excellent idea, Harry. I love you.”

“I love you more than free wifi,” he says, and then the idea hits him. His face transforms like the sky on a cloudy day turning sunny, and he smacks the table with an open palm. “That’s it, that’s the sign. ‘Louis, I love you more than free wifi’. That’s what it’ll say!”

Niall turns to him slowly, his smile wide. “You are a brilliant, brilliant boy.”

They try to high five, and they’re both so excited that they end up missing and slapping air. He doesn’t care, he’s figured out a way to get Louis to notice him and it’s all going to work out.

+

Zayn comes home from the Med Society ball just as Harry’s deciding what to wear to the concert. Niall’s laying upside down on Harry’s bed, head dangling off the edge as he makes innocuous comments about Harry’s outfit choices. His many outfit choices, because Harry can’t decide what to wear. Niall’s torso is covered in rejected options.

“No, not that one, it’s too fancy,” Niall says about Harry’s white blouse. “You look like you’re going to a fancy dinner with an older man who’s offering to be your sugar daddy.”

“Wow, Harry, that looks great,” Zayn says when he finds Harry staring at himself in the mirror. “But as much as I hate to side with Niall, he’s right.”

“Zayn!” Niall exclaims, swinging his upper body around so that he can get off the bed and hug Zayn. “How was the ball? We need to know everything. Come on, I’ll make tea.”

“What about my outfit, though?” Harry asks in protest as Zayn and Niall leave the room. “Like, I’m happy to see you, Zayn, but we’re going to see the love of my life tonight. Don’t you want me to look my best?”

Zayn looks at his watch. “It’s two in the afternoon, chill out, Hazza. Come on and I’ll tell you all about the night.”

+

The atmosphere at the O2 Arena is electric. They get there three hours early, because Harry insists on being one of the first people there. Niall and Zayn indulge him happily.

"You're both brilliant," he tells them, kissing their cheeks as they find their spots. “Thanks for coming, I’d be a mess without you.”

Niall frowns and makes a show of wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. "Gross, stop it."

Zayn flicks his ear. "Happy for you, mate."

"This is going to be the best night ever," Harry declares, already bouncy with nervous energy. "I can't wait until he comes on stage. Only... two more hours and fifty four minutes."

"How are we gonna pass the time?" Niall asks.

It's not hard, it turns out. Once more people fill in the spots around them, everyone wants to chat.

"We're so excited," the two girls next to Harry say. "We've seen him four times, we're following him around the country."

"Isn't that...you know, a bit creepy?" Niall asks, eyes narrowed.

"No, no, it's not," they say. "We're not like, those stalker girls. God, those are the worst."

“Anyway,” Harry says loudly. “Four times? That’s pretty amazing.”

“This’ll be the fifth. What about you?”

“It’s my first time,” Harry says, and he’s seized by a sudden urge to prove himself to these girls. _But I’ve watched all his videos_ , he wants to say. _He saved my life_. “I’m really looking forward to it,” he says.

They pass the time talking to these girls; they compliment his sign and trade stories about uni and London and funny anecdotes from Louis’ past shows. He gets them to take a photo of him holding his sign and uploads it to both Twitter and Tumblr. He can’t contain his excitement.

Then the lights go down and everything becomes a massive, screaming blur.

+

As long as he lives, Harry knows he will never forget this show. From the moment Louis walked out onto the stage, a faded blue Rolling Stones shirt clinging to his torso and black skinny jeans showing Harry just what that glorious bum looks like in person, Harry's transfixed just like he was that very first day. His voice is stronger and richer than Harry could have ever imagined, and he owns the stage. He's such a magnetic presence, and Harry doesn't know how he's supposed to move on from this.

His life will forever be divided into two sections: before the concert and after it.

+

Halfway through the show, Louis changes into a white t-shirt and engages with the fans a bit, reading out signs and bantering with the audience. He's brilliant at it; knows exactly how to crack a joke in just the right way to get people to laugh, knows what kinds of questions to ask to produce the funniest answers, and somehow manages to get the whole stadium to do the wave.

Louis starts reading questions from their area, and Harry's heart flips.

"Hold up your sign higher," Niall yells, poking Harry in the chest, and he does as he's told.

"Alright, you've all made some lovely signs," Lous says after he reads out a few, but you came here to see a show, yeah? So let's get back to the singing."

Harry drops his sign again, but his disappointment is short lived. That's the real, living, breathing Louis less than a hundred feet away.

"This is a very special song to me, and I'm thrilled to perform it for the first time here in London. If you know it, sing along. This is _Don't Forget Where You Belong_!"

Harry's heart feels like it's going to fall out of his chest.

"Been a lot of places..." Louis starts, and the sign's back up in the air, Harry hoisting it high as he scream-sings his head off. This is the best night of his life.

It's over too soon, of course, but Harry knows that he'll never forget that moment, the feeling that Louis did that just for him.

"Love that sign there, Curly," Louis says, and Harry's eyes flick to the big screen to see his competition. He's stunned to find his own face reflected there, sweaty curls matted to his forehead and face slack, stunned a what he sees.

Zayn shoves him, and all Harry can do is yell "It's true!" before he bursts into tears.

+

They stumble home hours later, ears ringing and smiles broad. "That was fucking amazing," Zayn says, collapsing onto the couch. "I might not be able to hear properly for a week, but..."

"He was fucking good," Niall agrees.

"I can't believe he saw my sign," Harry says, falling into a kitchen chair and staring blankly out at the living room.

"We know," Zayn and Niall say in unison.

"You've only said so about a hundred times," Niall adds.

"I think it's a thousand," Zayn says.

"No, you don't understand," Harry says loudly, cutting through their banter. "He saw my sign. He knows I exist."

"He does," Niall says, rubbing his shoulder.

"I'm in love with him," Harry says. "I can't believe I'm going to be celibate forever now."

"You'll find someone," Zayn mumbles sleepily.

"Not anyone like him. He's amazing. Did you see him out there? I'm done for."

"Good luck with that," Niall says, and he gives Harry a hug.

+

The next morning comes far too soon. His ears are still ringing in the quiet of the flat, and he thanks God or whoever's up there that it's a Sunday and he doesn't have anywhere to be.

His phone beeps on the side table and he reaches over for it, frowning at how hot it feels in his palm. He blearily types in his pincode, and -- okay. Wow.

He's got a lot of messages. Tweets, texts, tumblr notifications. Hundreds of them.

What's going on?

The phone buzzes again, and as he opens Twitter he just sees a stream of follows and favorites, and each time he thinks he's about to figure out what’s happening he gets another follower. What the fuck is going on?

He's never had so many mentions in his life. Sure, he uses his twitter like any other guy in uni, mostly to brag about how he got free pizza at the radio station last week and to complain about how much he misses his cat.

But these messages all include Louis' name, which is confusing. What is going on?

It takes a few more minutes, but he eventually discovers that Louis has tweeted him.

Louis Tomlinson.

Louis actually tweeted him.

Niall comes running into the room as Harry sits staring at his phone, and he takes one look at Harry before he crawls into bed with him.

"Have you checked your Facebook, mate? Seems like something happened on Twitter. Louis tweeted you."

"You're about three seconds too late, Nialler,” Harry says, holding up the phone. “This won’t stop buzzing.”

“So it’s true?”

“How did you find out?” Harry asks.

“It’s all over your Facebook, everyone’s posting about it.”

Harry exhales slowly. “Shit.”

“He _tweeted_ you,” Niall says. “What are you gonna say back?”

Harry blinks. “I… haven’t even read it yet,” he admits, realizing it with a start. He navigates to the tweet, and there, right on his screen, is Louis tweeting his name.

        ******@LouisTomlinson:** Thanks for coming to the show last night, @Harry_Styles! Loved your sign.

Shit.

He’s also favorited Harry’s last tweet, the one with the picture of the sign, so there’s no questioning whether he’s made a mistake.

Then the panic hits him. “Oh God, oh God, he actually tweeted me,” he babbles, shaking Niall’s shoulder. “Niall, he _tweeted me_! What do I say?”

“There we go,” Niall says, placing a hand on Harry’s leg. “Was wondering why you weren’t freaking out. But it just hadn't hit you yet."

"What do I _say_?" Harry asks, trying to catch his breath. "Niall, he knows who I am. He knows."

He drops his phone in shock, and when he opens it a minute later, the tweet's gained over a thousand new favorites. Holy shit.

"I know, I know," Niall says softly. "Let's just figure out what to say back, alright?"

After much debate, they settle for something simple.

 **@Harry_Styles:** @Louis_Tomlinson Hi! Thanks :) Great show last night, had loads of fun! Thanks for playing DFWYB!

Harry thinks it's a bit dorky, but Niall expressly forbade him from typing any puns.

"Now what do I do?" Harry asks, feeling his heart racing. Has Louis seen it yet? "How did he even _find_ me?"

"Now we," Niall says, "are going to get you in the shower and get you some tea and toast, and we'll figure it out from there."

+

Harry should have known that it was the Tumblr fandom who helped Louis find him. He'd posted the picture of his sign, after all, and a number of his online friends had seen Louis' tweet overnight (the post has 9,000 notes and counting). They'd put the pieces together and someone had tweeted Louis, and then... Louis had tweeted him.

"This is insane," Zayn says, looking at the messages.

"I know," Harry says through a mouthful of toast. "It's the weirdest fucking thing. But like... it's insane."

"Who would have thought?"

"He just messaged you again," Zayn says, tossing the phone to Harry. It's a testament to Zayn's self control on this issue that he doesn't just read the message aloud and make fun of Harry for weeks. Though that's probably coming.

It's a direct message from Louis. “Hey, sorry I’m never this forward but would you like to meet for a coffee or something? I’m free before my show this afternoon, if you’re not too creeped out by this message. Loved ur sign!”

"You have to go," Niall insists, reading over his shoulder, and Zayn agrees.

"But like..." Harry starts, unable to articulate his thoughts.

"But nothing," Zayn says, taking the phone out of Harry's hand. "I'm telling him you'll be there."

 _But what if he doesn't like me?_ is what Harry wants to say. _What if I don't like him? What if he turns out to be an arsehole?_

"He's going to love you," Niall says, and not for the first time, Harry wonders if he can read his mind. "I promise."

+

The coffee shop where Louis suggested they meet is a tiny place not far from Kensington Palace, tucked off on a side street with a lot of little antique shops. Harry wonders how he's never been to this part of town before.

It seems like today's going to be the day he does a few things he's never done before: he's never met a celebrity in his life, let alone had coffee with a popstar. He didn't know how to tell Niall and Zayn, but he's worried that Louis won't live up to his expectations. Harry's had a crush on him for months, but he's aware that he doesn't really know the real Louis. But this is a chance to sit down with the object of his affections and thank him personally for all he's done. Certainly Louis doesn't do this for everyone.

It's a chance.

A black car pulls up outside the shop, and the door opens before Harry has time to process that it's driven by a man in a suit and sunglasses. Louis steps out, and Harry... well, Harry just tries not to collapse.

"Harry?" Louis asks, smiling brightly.

"Yeah," Harry says after a minute. "Hi."

Louis reaches out a hand, and the minute their palms make contact, Harry knows he's done for.

+

Louis is lovely. Christ, he's got the best laugh in the world and he talks about his baby siblings like they're his own kids and he's positively charming. Harry feels affection blooming in his chest, not the fan crush he walked in here with, but something real, something more solid.

"So you liked the show last night?" Louis asks, his hands holding his mug of tea tight.

"Loved it," Harry says eagerly. They've been talking for about a half hour, and he feels like he's managed to get over the shock of 'Holy shit that's Louis Tomlinson' and he's able to talk to Louis like he would talk to a friend. He's been able to tell him how much his music has helped him this year, which is all he really wanted anyway. "Seriously. I thought you were... you were brilliant," he admits, taking a quick sip of coffee to mask the compliment.

"So does that mean you want to come back tonight?" His smile is wide and happy.

Harry has to physically fight to keep his jaw from dropping. "Yes. I mean... you're serious, yeah?"

"Wouldn't joke about something like this," Louis says, and Harry wants to kiss the grin off his face. Which is -- wow. Okay. Yeah, he really wants to kiss Louis. This Louis, the casually dressed boy sitting in front of him, not Louis the rockstar in the calendar hanging on his wall.

"I'd love to."

He leaves the coffee shop with Louis' number in his phone and a spot on the VIP list for tonight's show. His cheek burns from where Louis kissed it saying goodbye.

+

The show is amazing. Backstage, while waiting for Louis to shower and do whatever rockstars do after sold-out concerts, he meets Liam, Louis' best friend growing up. He's not sure what exactly it is that Liam does, but he's been with Louis throughout the whole tour. Harry likes him immediately.

"So you're the reason Louis was so calm this afternoon," Liam says, handing him a beer and telling him to take a seat and relax. He can't quite believe that he's in Louis' dressing room.

"Yeah?" Harry asks, one eyebrow raised, because this is very interesting information.

"Did everything he was supposed to, hardly complained at all. Very calm. Got here early, even. Which... as I'm sure you'll learn, hardly ever happens. Gotta cherish it when it does."

 _As I'm sure you'll learn._ So does that mean... is Liam suggesting that Harry's going to to be around for the long-term? This night just keeps getting better and better.

"Don't believe a word this guy says, Hazza," Louis says, striding into the dressing room and rubbing Liam's shoulders. He's wearing jeans and nice shoes with a longsleeve button up that shows off his blue eyes. His hair is wet, but Harry thinks he's never looked better.

"Thanks so much for coming," Louis says as he walks around Liam's couch and takes a seat next to Harry on his. He leans over to press a kiss to Harry's cheek, and Harry's eyes flutter closed softly as he inhales the scent of Louis' woodsy cologne.

"You were brilliant," Harry says, his tone honest. "Thanks so much for inviting me. I had a great time."

"Oh good," Louis says, and he sounds like he was genuinely concerned he wouldn't enjoy himself. "I was worried... since your friends couldn't come you were by yourself and I just thought..."

"No, you were fantastic. Really."

"You better stop that, Harry, or he'll get a big head. Not like he hasn't got an ego the size of Jupiter already."

"Oi!" Louis says, looking like he wants to throw something at Liam. "Don't say stuff like that in front of my... in front of Harry. You're supposed to make me look good, more put together than I am."

"Think you ruin that idea all by yourself," Liam jokes.

Harry watches this banter with a detective's eye, trying to glean as much information from the two of them as he can. He doesn't want to make any assumptions, but if he had to guess, it seems like Louis and Liam have had conversations about Harry, even in the comparatively few hours since last night. And Liam seems to think he's going to be sticking around for a bit, which is... Well, it's a lot.

"Hey," Louis says quietly to Harry. "You wanna get out of here?"

It doesn't take much time for Harry to say yes.

+

"Can't believe this is where you live," Harry says, looking wide eyed around the flat. It’s on the top floor of a building in central London. Harry could probably fit six of his own flat in here.

"I know," Louis admits, looking at him across the kitchen. "I mean... I don't say that to sound like a rich arsehole. It's just like, I'm not used to the whole thing yet, you know? So it's a bit hard for me to believe it too."

"D'you spend a lot of time here? Seems like you're traveling a lot." Harry takes a seat on one of the stools by the counter.

"Yeah, that's the problem," Louis admits, and his voice sounds mournful. "I'm on the road so much that I hardly feel like this is my home. Home feels like it's still that little house in Doncaster where I grew up. Except my mum sold that one when I bought her a bigger place for all the kids, so it's like…”

He runs a hand over his face, and Harry feels like he’s seeing a new side to him, one that’s even more open and honest than he’d been in the coffee shop. “Almost like I haven't got a home at all anymore, you know?"

He seems real about it, not like he’s looking for sympathy. Harry’s heart twists a little at the vulnerability. "I'm sorry."

"Christ, I shouldn't be complaining about this. I mean. People have real actual problems, and then there's me, this dumb rockstar wannabe complaining that he doesn't get to hang out in his swanky flat enough. You must think I'm the worst."

Louis turns to take two beers from the fridge, and Harry takes advantage of the fact that his back is turned to voice his feelings.

"I think you're proper lovely, actually."

When Louis turns around, there’s a smile spreading across his face. “Really?” There’s a hesitancy there that Harry doesn’t recognize.

“Really. I always did, but now that I’ve met you properly, it’s like… there’s so much more to you. You’re so good, Lou, really.” _Lou_. The nickname slips out without him thinking about it, but from the way Louis smiles, Harry figures it’s not unwelcome.

“You,” Louis says, rounding the counter to get to Harry on the other side. “You’re so…”

“What?” he asks, his heart rate picking up as Louis gets closer. Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and he watches as Louis’ eyes track the motion. _Interesting_.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, his voice soft. He places a hand on Harry’s knee. “I don’t know what it is about you. I just feel like I…” he trails off, running his free hand through his hair, and he looks a bit distressed. He closes his eyes, and Harry searches his face, trying to make sense of all this.

“What?” Harry repeats softly.

“I feel like I’m half in love with you already,” Louis finally says, opening his eyes, talking faster as he continues. “I know it’s crazy, and I know it’s weird and way too soon and I’ve probably scared you off. Things like this don’t just _happen_.”

“Me too,” Harry says immediately, eyes focused on Louis’ face, his hands reaching out blindly to grab Louis’ in his own. The pure relief that ghosts over Louis’ face is a heady feeling. Harry did that. “And it’s not just a fan crush thing, it’s not. Like I’m sure you get people telling you they love you all the time, but I just… I don’t know. I’ve known you for a day, but I already feel like…”

“We could be something,” Louis finishes, and Harry nods. He’s thinking of Louis this afternoon, laughing at all of Harry’s dumb stories, buying him coffee, asking him about his life and really listening.

“It’s really dumb, right?” Harry asks. “We barely know each other.”

“I feel like I know everything that matters,” Louis says, and it sounds like such a line that Harry has to laugh. “And we’ll figure out the rest along the way.”

When he leans forward to kiss Harry, it feels like it’s exactly how it’s meant to be.

+

Harry wakes in an unfamiliar bed, sheets pooled around his waist. It takes him a few seconds to realize where he is, and as he stretches out, he feels a pleasant ache that reminds him exactly what happened last night. He smiles as the memories flash by like a video montage. Louis kissing him against the kitchen work surface. Louis pushing him to fall onto the bed, staring down at Harry with hooded eyes. Undressing him slowly, reverently, singing _Your Body Is A Wonderland_ until they were both laughing too hard to concentrate. Pressing into him with the most careful expression on his face. Yeah, Harry’s pretty sure this is love.

He turns in bed, ready to curl up against Louis, only to find the bed empty next to him. He can hear singing drifting in from another room, a happy tune he can’t place right now, and he smiles at the thought of Louis maneuvering around his apartment, singing to himself.

He reaches over for his phone on the side table, and finds a number of texts, six calls from Gemma, and an Instagram notification for Louis. Yeah, maybe he should turn those off. But Louis is his boyfriend now, so maybe it’s okay.

He opens the app and inhales sharply at the picture he sees. It’s a picture of him sleeping in bed, just the edge of his ear and a bit of his hair curling on the pillow. Louis must have just taken it.

The caption just reads ‘Happy.’

+

It’s been four years, and Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the roar of the crowd when Louis steps out onto the stage. It’s always a bit alarming, each crowd seemingly larger than the last. Louis always insists that nothing will ever top the first show that Harry went to; Harry likes to retort that he couldn’t possibly still remember the opening crowd that night. But no matter what, watching Louis start his show is always as good as that first time.

But then, when it comes to him and Louis, everything is.

“He seems happy tonight,” Zayn says, coming up behind him and dropping his head to his shoulder. They’re watching from the wings; Perrie’s here and with her just three months pregnant, Zayn insisted they stay backstage. Perrie had rolled her eyes and called him overprotective, but Harry figured one could never be too careful. “Happier than usual, I mean.”

“He’s always happy,” Harry retorts. “He loves doing this. Which is going to make the next six months very interesting.”

It’s the last night of the tour, Louis’ third time touring the globe, and Harry can’t wait to go home. He can’t wait to have Louis all to himself while they’re back in London. Louis will be recording his next album and Harry’s got plans to develop a new radio show with Nick, who takes great joy in teasing him about the fact that he’s still hopelessly in love with Louis. He gives it six weeks of daily sex, cuddling and lounging at home before Louis is itching to get back on tour.

Harry’s alright with it.

Louis is thanking the band and the crew and everyone who’s helped him on this tour, one song to go, when he says, “Will the lovely Harry Styles please come out on stage?”

The roar of the crowd is a blur as Harry stares at Louis, who’s beckoning him forward. In their four years of dating, Harry has never been on stage, preferring to take a backseat role. Their relationship isn’t a secret -- he has nearly as many Twitter followers as Louis, which is a bit hard to grasp, and the two of them post photos of each other quite frequently -- but he’s never been truly in the public eye, not like Louis.

“I know you can hear me, Harold.”

Zayn drops a pair of earplugs into his palm and shoves Harry forward. “Go on!”

“Hi,” Harry says, fitting the earplugs in as he walks onto the stage. One of the crew guys hands him a microphone and he takes it automatically. The screams get even louder, the lights blinding, but he only has eyes for Louis.

“Hi, Harry,” Louis says when Harry’s stopped a foot or two away. “This is where we met, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Harry says happily, and he doesn’t know what kind of game Louis is playing but he’ll follow him anywhere.

“Right over there,” Louis says, pointing to the front row, and the girls in that area are screaming themselves hoarse. “So this place is already pretty special to us.”

“It is,” Harry repeats, and he can feel his heart beating a bit faster. Louis grins.

“So I was thinking that we should make it even more special,” Louis says, and he gets down on one knee in front of the entire O2 arena. He pulls a small black box out of his pocket, and his head is tilted in a casual, _whaddaya say about that?_ expression.

Harry’s hands are clapped over his cheeks, eyes already watering.

“You wanna marry me?”

Harry can’t hear it, but as he nods and falls to his knees, kissing Louis desperately, the crowd erupts into screams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ find me on tumblr](http://afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com/) || [reblog the fic post](http://afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com/post/156678954021/all-the-lines-we-cast-will-bring-us-home-by)


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